


Political Animal

by yanatya



Category: West Wing
Genre: F/M, PWP, Standalone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-03-22
Updated: 2002-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanatya/pseuds/yanatya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh's sensitive system bites him in the ass. Angst alert. And sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No specific spoilers, but let's say up to The Two Bartlets for general plot stuff, just to be safe.

His eyes snap open suddenly, alarmed that he might have overslept. His clock shows five a.m. and he's suddenly relieved to remember that it's Sunday. He won't have to be at work until late afternoon.

His head hurts and he notices that a glass of water and two tablets have been placed on his bedside table. Donna must have made sure he got home from the party alright. Wincing, he grabs the tablets, trying to move as little as possible, and gulps down the water.

He drifts back off to sleep.

*****

He wakes slowly the next time, uncomfortably aware that he's become very warm under the covers. Something moves beside him and he jerks to a sitting position, all of a sudden realising that he's not alone.

The other occupant of the bed is still wrapped up in blankets, but he can see blonde hair spread over the pillow.

Shit. Not Donna. Please, let it not be Donna.

He pulls the covers back from her face and sees a smooth, white, naked shoulder as well. And yes, he's naked too.

Oh god.

She wakes sleepily and smiles up at him. "Hey."

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He feels the panic rising in his gut.

"Josh?" She sits up, pulling the sheet up under her armpits. "Are you okay?"

"What are you doing here?" The words are out before he can stop them.

She frowns a bit, but recovers and gives him a saucy smile. "Well, if you remember..."

"I don't." he cuts her off harshly.

"Josh?"

"I don't remember. Jesus. I don't remember."

"Josh - "

"Okay. Stop." He tries to get his breath back. It wasn't fair. Damn it. They were just about to move reelection into high gear. He'd put out all the major fires. As long as nothing unexpected happened, as long as there were no more scandals, he might - might - be able to pull a second term out of the bag.

"Did we..." He trails off.

"Yes," she replies tightly. Her good mood has evaporated.

Of course, the White House Deputy Chief of Staff screwing his young, blonde, leggy secretary was possibly the absolute best way to derail that whole reelection plan. This scenario had the two things his enemies needed: evidence of misconduct - for the courts, and sex - for the media. God, this thing could get press for months. What had he been thinking?

"What were you thinking?" Again, he blurts out the words.

"What was I thinking?" she asks incredulously. She sweeps the sheet around her and stands, backing away to put some distance between them. She's outraged. "You were there too!"

He scrambles to cover himself, sees his boxers and stumbles over to tug them on. "I was drunk!"

Her mouth is open in disbelief. "So this is my fault? I was drunk too, you know."

"Obviously."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean!" she rages at him. "And for your information," she continues, not waiting for a response. "You started it. You pulled me down on top of you!"

"You must not have fought too hard to get up."

She's over to him in a second and lands a punch in his gut. He doubles over. "You bastard!" She leans down and yells in his ear. "I already do everything for you! How the hell was I supposed to know that this was one of the things I wasn't supposed to do?"

"Oh, so now I've used you?" he shouts back.

"I wouldn't have thought so up until now! We both wanted this, Josh."

"NO. No. I never wanted this."

"Bullshit." She glances at the clock. "Eight hours ago you did."

His memory is starting to come back to him in flashes. He remembers Donna's arm around his waist, steadying him while she fumbled to open his door. He remembers her making him sit on the bed and kneeling to take off his shoes. He remembers her swinging his legs up onto the mattress and pushing his shoulder, trying to get him to lie down. And - god - he remembers reaching up and pulling her down for a kiss. She broke away, but he kissed her again anyway and coaxed and tugged at her until she gave in and climbed on top of him. He remembers that they laughed as they made love slowly.

"I did," he admits in a more normal tone of voice.

"Bastard." She won't forgive him easily for this.

"I'm sorry."

She says nothing and stares at the floor, absentmindedly pulling the sheet more securely around her.

"I am."

She doesn't respond or meet his eyes. She starts to move away, scanning the ground for her clothes.

"You do understand, don't you?"

She lets her breath out.

"Donna, you -"

She raises her head finally. "Apparently, it doesn't matter whether I understand or not."

"You think this is what I want? Donna - "

"Oh, please, let's have another conversation about what you want and don't want, Josh. Because the last one was very enlightening," she snaps.

She's goading him, but he doesn't care.

"We can't do this!"

"We did do this!"

"Donna!" He steps up to her and grasps her shoulders. "We can't do this again."

She studies at the ground and he tightens his grip on her, forcing her to look up. He gives her a little shake. "This can't happen again. Do you understand?"

She says nothing. His fingers dig farther into her shoulders, his nails turning white. "And this can't go any further than this room. You do know that, right?"

Her face is pale and he realises suddenly how angry she is. He decides he doesn't care; for his own peace of mind, he needs to know he stated the obvious out loud. He gets right in her face and raises his voice. "This can't happen again." He shakes her harder this time. "This absolutely cannot happen again!"

"Get your hands off me, Josh!" She finally comes to life and pulls his hands off her. She rubs the marks he's left on her shoulders.

The sheet she'd been holding tucked up under her armpits slips a bit, but she doesn't notice. He does, though, and stares at the round swell of soft, white skin.

"I can't believe you."

He jerks his head up to meet her eyes. She's caught him looking.

"You want to see what you can't remember?" she asks sarcastically, letting the sheet fall completely.

He can't help but stare. Her firm, curved body stands defiantly in front of him, breasts thrusting, skin flushed.

She waits for him to finish looking, but he doesn't move, devouring her with his eyes. He remembers her soft weight as she slid on top of him and suddenly knows that her breasts fit perfectly in his hands.

She decides to take the initiative and end this standoff. She reaches forward quickly and slides her hand into his boxers to grasp his cock, which is already getting hard.

He starts back, but she clutches his waist with her other hand, digging her fingers in to hold him in place. She pushes herself up close to his body and bends her head to breathe hot air against his neck. She starts to stroke his cock slowly with a tight grip.

"This is what you want," she whispers in his ear, right before she yanks him flush against her body. Her tongue trails across his ear and jaw, then licks his throat with long, firm strokes. Her other hand speeds up against his erection.

"Donna!" he chokes out as loud as he can. He pushes her away and she stumbles.

She smiles back at him without humour and cups a breast with one hand. She tweaks the nipple and groans softly, her eyes never leaving his. Her other hand trails down to her sex and she starts to trace slow circles over her mound. She steps toward him.

His breathing gets faster. His dick twitches as she closes her eyes and slides a finger into her folds.

She makes a small, pleasure-filled sound and opens her eyes again. "Josh," she whispers.

He's over there in a second, pulling her hands away from her body and thrusting his aching cock against her belly. His mouth covers hers and he pushes his tongue inside. Their teeth crash together and he pulls her head as close to his as he can, intent on taking everything her mouth can give. His other hand slips down to squeeze her buttocks and angle her hips so that he can shove himself against her folds.

She's overwhelmed at first but soon recovers. She puts her arms around him and hangs on tight, pushing her hips to meet him as he thrusts against her. He abandons her mouth to handle her breasts and she makes a noise between a scream and a laugh as his mouth sucks roughly at her.

He raises his head and sees her smiling down at him for real this time. There's no triumph in her face, no pride, just affection and desire. He can feel his own face softening into a goofy grin and he suddenly knows there's something between them beyond lust and perhaps beyond friendship. And then he realises that that something could be far more dangerous to them than a drunken one-night stand.

If anyone finds out.

"Damn!" He pushes her away again, harder this time. She'd been on tiptoes, arching against his body, so she loses her balance and falls back on her ass.

"I'm sorry," he says, but makes no move to help her up. He can't touch her again. "We can't do this."

"Yes, we can," she insists. She starts crawling towards him on all fours.

"Donna," he says weakly, holding up his hands. He takes a step back, and another, but she follows him until he is backed up against the wall. In one fluid movement she gets up onto her knees and yanks his boxers down just enough so that his cock springs free. She engulfs him with her mouth, taking in his whole length. As she pulls away, lips wrapped tightly around him, he can't help but thrust into her again.

She laughs a little and brings his hands to her hair, letting him guide her movements. He groans and shuts his eyes, letting his head fall back. Images start flying through his head: calling her into his office and locking the door; pushing her down to do this for him between meetings as he stands with his back to the wall. Or sitting in his chair and letting her kneel between his legs. Or having her strip naked and perch on his desk while he undoes his belt, pulling his dick out of his trousers to take her in the middle of the day.

God, he wants her. In all those ways and more. And she seems determined to have him, too.

His hips are speeding up. He pulls her mouth off him and hauls her up to face him. Her eyes are wide and she's breathing hard.

She licks her lips.

"Damn." He picks her up by her waist and throws her back on the bed.

She scoots backwards and her breasts arch up as she reaches behind her, extracting a condom from a hastily torn box and tossing it to him.

She gazes up at him as he gets ready. Slowly, she spreads her legs and draws her knees up, arching her hips, offering her sex to him. He stares for only a moment before he drops down on top of her, thrusting himself inside her as far as he can go.

She wails but reaches up to put her arms around his neck. He stops her, pinning her wrists above her head and then starting to drive into her in earnest. He feels her legs wrap around his waist and he pushes into her harder.

Her eyes don't leave his, even as she cries out with every thrust. He studies her face, wanting to see something that will give him the answers he needs. It almost seems to him that she's holding back, that she's willfully keeping him from finding out what's going on inside her.

He releases her wrists and braces his arms on the mattress so that he can drive into her harder and faster. Her screams match his grunts and she clutches him to her. His face is right above hers, their mouths almost touching, but he can't kiss her. He's too far gone to think of anything besides finishing. Besides finding what he needs in her. She doesn't kiss him either; the hot breath from their panting mingles in the small space between their mouths.

"Donna! God - " He comes unexpectedly, fast and hard, arching into her as deep as he can go. "I'm sorry," he says breathlessly as his forehead rests against hers. He tries to relax, to get his heart to stop hammering in his chest.

He begins to lift himself off of her and she cries out "No!" She tightens her arms and legs around him. "Stay." He lets his weight fall against her for a moment.

"I can't. I have to -" He eases himself out of her, holding tight to the condom and gets off her. He disappears into the bathroom to dispose of it.

When he comes back, he sees that she's closed her legs tight together and is huddled up in a corner of his bed. She looks small and alone.

He drops down beside her and tugs the sheet up. She turns to look at him and he presses his lips gently against her shoulder. She flinches, just a bit. He snakes an arm around her and kisses her shoulder again, then moves to her collarbone and throat.

When she starts to relax he lets his hands trace patterns on her body through the sheet. Finally, his lips wander lower and he begins tasting the soft, round swell of her breast, properly this time. She exhales and he takes that as a good sign. He lets his hands wander under the sheet, stroking her skin everywhere he can reach, while his mouth continues to caress her breasts. Her hands land on his head and shoulder and rest there, absently stroking him.

His hands drift lower and graze across her thighs. He parts her legs gently and his fingers find her sex. She hisses a bit and he reasons that she's probably sore. She got him ready for sex; he'd spent no time on her.

He moves his hands away from her sensitive area, letting them drift across her hips and thighs and mound. He doesn't look up at her before leaving her breasts to kiss his way down her belly. She makes a noise that might be protest when she realises what he's going to do, but her hands follow him down and bury themselves in his hair.

He starts on the perimeter of her sex with his mouth and keeps his touch soft. Eventually, he works his way to her opening and soothes the heat there with long, wide laps of his tongue. She groans softly, without urgency, and he ventures to look up at her. Her head is resting on the pillow, her eyes closed, and the frown lines have disappeared from her face. He goes back to what he's doing, relieved to know that she's enjoying this and isn't just waiting for him to finish.

He gets comfortable and moves in as close as he can, nuzzling and kissing her folds leisurely. She makes another contented noise and he's absurdly happy to hear it. He continues as before, though, tasting her slowly, not picking up the pace, not seeking to end this anytime soon.

Eventually, though, her noises become more regular and her hands in his hair convulse, so he has no choice but to pay more attention to her clit. He kisses it and she whimpers. He sucks at it and she screams. He thrusts his tongue into her and she arches up to his mouth.

He abandons his relaxed pace to pursue her orgasm in earnest. He throws himself into it passionately, kissing and licking and sucking at her as she thrusts rhythmically against his face. She's crying now and crying out for him and he knows she's close. He wishes he could keep her here in this state of almost overwhelming pleasure indefinitely, but knows he can't. So he clamps his mouth over her, kissing and sucking her fiercely, and she finally calls out his name as she comes. He slips a finger inside her so that he can feel her convulsions and strokes her inner walls, coaxing the last pleasure from her body.

When she finishes he rests his head on her belly, loving the feel of her soft skin against his cheek. Her legs are wrapped over his shoulders and the warm heat from her sex is resting under his heart. He sighs with pleasure at the feel of her and kisses her belly absently, nuzzling the skin there.

Some time later he realises that neither of them have said anything. He looks up and sees her face, blotchy and wet. She was crying when she came, he remembers. He hadn't thought to ask at the time; emotions run high during sex. Tears are still rolling down her face now, though, and he hastens to take her in his arms.

He settles next to her, on his side, and pulls her against him, brushing the hair out of her face. He opens his mouth to speak but she stops him, placing her hand over his mouth. So instead he tries to communicate the warmth she needs with his expression and uses part of the sheet to wipe the tears off her face. She smiles a bit and he pulls her tighter.

His lips find hers and they kiss slowly. It's different than before and he wonders if they would have ever been able to recreate the carefree fun of their first time, the previous night. He dismisses these thoughts and lets himself get lost in their kisses, revelling in the feel of her soft body pressed against his chest and the tangling of long, smooth legs with his.

After a while, the kissing winds down to gentle, close-mouthed touches. He settles her against him and she nestles her head against his shoulder. Her breathing evens out and he decides she's gone to sleep, so he gets comfortable and lets himself drift off as well.

*****

In his dreams he's running through the dark.

He thinks maybe he's inside because he keeps tripping over things and his progress is slow. A light burns faint off in the distance and he makes that his goal.

As he runs, his surroundings begin to fade in from black. The walls are covered with a red and gold wallpaper. Polished mahogany furniture lines the sides of the passage and he realises he's in a hall. He stops and gazes up at the chandelier, but as he does, its light starts to dim and he knows he has to keep going.

The light ahead of him is constant and he quickens his pace and continues steadily towards it. Soon, the hall is left behind and he's running through an even bigger room where he can't really see the ceiling or walls. This place isn't warm and cozy, though, it's grey and black and the lights are a cold white. A chill breeze sweeps over his face, spurring him on.

As he leaves this room he spies Donna ahead of him. He can't speak, but he grabs her arm as he goes by and pulls her along with him. Soon she understands what he wants and shakes off his hand, more than able to keep the pace he's set. They run together for a while and he almost doesn't notice when she starts to veer away. He grabs her arm, though, and speeds up again.

The light is getting brighter and he's filled with a sudden sense of urgency. He looks over at Donna and says one word, "Faster."

She laughs at him and sprints ahead. He can't help but chase her. The light is getting wider and brighter and he knows that if she makes it there before him, she'll win. He puts on an extra burst of speed and catches up to her, grins, then passes her, head down, making for the prize.

He bursts into the light and exults in his triumph, raising his arms and punching the air. He's outdoors, the sun is shining, and the grass stretches ahead of him. He pauses, revelling in the joy he feels.

When he turns around, though, Donna isn't there. He can see the dark doorway he came through and is puzzled, because surely she was right behind him. He's loathe to go back, so he grabs the doorframe tightly and keeps one foot firmly planted on the sunny grass as he peers in.

She's nowhere to be seen. He blinks as his eyes readjust to the dim light and notices that his doorway is flanked on both sides by a row of other doors. Could she have gotten lost? Could she have gone through the wrong door?

He can't hear his voice but he yells into the echoing dark anyway. "Donna!"

"Donna!"

"DONNA!"

*****

"Donna." He wakes up mumuring her name.

He finally realises that if nothing else, he's been hasty. With all the problems he's had to solve, all the 'things' he's had to fix in the last few years, the idea of willfully creating a new issue for the administration has always given him a headache. So everytime he notices her smile, or her wit, or her long, lithe, amazing body, he slaps the urge down with a firm "No."

It's a given. He's never bothered wondering why it's a bad idea; he just knows it is. And that may be true, he reasons. But he should at least think it through. Maybe there's a way he hasn't considered. There are probably a lot of office romances going on under his nose; surely they don't all get caught.

And he should talk it through with Donna, too, especially since denial isn't really an option anymore.

Not now, though. He has to be at work in a while, he thinks, grimacing at the clock. He - they - have spent most of the day in bed...

Except she isn't there. He turns over and sees that she's pulled the covers up over him. The extra pillows have suspiciously made their way down under the blankets, giving the illusion that someone is laying near him.

It could be coincidence. She could be in the bathroom.

"Donna?"

She could be in the kitchen.

"Donna!"

He realises how quiet it is. None of her clothes are here. She's refilled his toothbrush cup with water and left it on the nightstand. Next to the box with one condom left inside.

"Donna!"

He thinks he hears a soft noise.

"DONNA!"

And then he hears the door to his apartment shutting with an unmistakable click.

  
THE END

_Like angst but hate angsty endings? Chapter Two is the cheat..._

 


	2. Super-Secret Epilogue

 

She's not sure why she had been so bent on seducing him. Probably it was because she wanted to confirm that last night was more than a drunken fling. She'd known at the time that it was a bad idea.

But he'd smiled, and used that mouth of his to good effect, and whispered a number of things in her ear that she'd never guess she'd hear from him...

And she fell for it. Who said that the old tried-and-true seduction techniques didn't work? Alcohol, soft kisses, sweet words. 'When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul lends the tongue vows...' Shakespeare really wasn't kidding.

Maybe she went for him again because she felt like a fool.

Knowing he was right doesn't make it any easier to get up, but she does. And takes a long, hot shower, hoping he'll wake up and join her. That doesn't happen. She feels a sudden need for control; her body is torn between crying and wanting to throw up.

She wishes she'd hit him harder.

But she dismisses these thoughts and gathers her clothes and puts them on neatly. Her hair she brushes back into a severe tail and she scrubs her face clean in cold water. She tidies the room as well, trying to remove the traces of her presence, and sets his alarm to wake him in time for his afternoon meetings.

Finally, she stands at the bedroom door and watches him sleep. A part of her - most of her - still wants him to wake up and tell her to stay. She indulges herself for a few minutes, this one last time.

Turning, she takes her glass to the kitchen and washes it. The last evidence of her is gone. She lingers in the hall by the apartment door for a moment, trying not to cry but not succeeding very well. She stifles her mouth and nose with her fist, opening the door.

And hears her name. She thinks she's dreaming, but there it is again. And again. The tears start to fall and she presses her hand to her mouth to stop the sobs. Her purse falls to the floor and she hears him call her again.

Some part of her needs to leave. She doesn't have the strength for another shouting match and she can't imagine what will come out of her mouth if she stays. And he does happen to be right. But the greater part of her can't imagine not coming when he calls.

She doesn't like that either.

She's torn about what to do when she realises that her hand has softly closed the door again. She's still inside. She stares at her hand on the doorknob and wonders what it means.

She hears a noise behind her and starts. He's tearing out of the bedroom naked, hopping to put on his boxers and looking absolutely ridiculous as his bits bounce back and forth.

She leans her back against the door, still clutching the doorknob, and laughs at him even though there are tears on her cheeks.

He stops, boxers around his knees, and straightens to look at her. "You're still here," he says dumbly.

"Yes."

He opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it again. He tries to take a step towards her and nearly trips over his underwear. She laughs again.

He grins sheepishly. "Do you want them on or off?"

The smile fades from her face.

"I get a choice?"

"Yeah," he says softly. "Absolutely."

She walks up to him. "You have to be at work soon," she reminds him, running her hands across his chest.

"Not that soon." He smiles at her and she's lost again.

"Okay," she agrees.

"And -" he pauses, uncertain. "We need to talk."

"Now?" She takes her hands off him.

"You'll be here when I get back?" He feels stabs of both relief and guilt when she turns that sweet, happy face to him and nods.

In that case -" She bends and quickly strips the boxers off him, draping them over his shoulder. "This belongs in the bedroom."

"No problem," he says, sweeping her up in his arms, intent on carrying her there.

She's giving him a somber look and he wants to change her mood. He puts his mouth to her ear and blows in it. She giggles and tickles him. He laughs in surprise and runs his fingers over the backs of her knees, loving the way she squirms in his arms.

She kisses his neck and he growls. "C'mon," she says.

Before he kisses her, he whispers something in her ear, and she smiles.

THE REAL END


End file.
